


New Beginnings

by cosmicsymphony



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: F/M, Gen, Oh so slow burn, Probably awkward at first but adorable nonetheless, Slow Burn, Wouldn't these dorks make an adorable couple
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-04 08:46:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4131453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicsymphony/pseuds/cosmicsymphony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Diedrich and Frances team up to capture a murderer whose main target is none other than Vincent, Earl Phantomhive. Eventual Diedrich/Frances.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve tried to keep things as close to canon as possible, but I’ve set Diedrich’s and Frances’ ages at nineteen and seventeen, respectively. Diedrich is on the younger end of the spectrum of nineteen, and Frances is currently in the middle of being seventeen. I should also point out this is a slow-burn romance, so there won’t be any mushy stuff for some time, but I promise there will be smooches later on! I don’t know how often I’ll be able to update, but I’ll try to whenever I can. Reviews are both encouraged and highly appreciated! Now without further ado, please enjoy the story!

* * *

 

Diedrich had never cared much for England.  The weather was too gloomy, the food too uninspired, the people too dour.  To be fair, Diedrich hadn’t exactly had a grand tour of the country, but he was a cynical sort of person, and if what he had been exposed to was this unpleasant, the rest of England couldn’t be much better.  

On this particular day, however, Diedrich was convinced the universe was conspiring against him, as a nasty rainstorm had rendered him stuck at Phantomhive Manor with none other than the Queen’s Watchdog himself, Vincent, Earl Phantomhive and the bane of Diedrich’s life.    

“Dee? Are you listening to me?”  

An imperious voice interrupted Diedrich’s thoughts, and Diedrich turned his gaze away from the window and toward the source of the disruption.  Phantomhive was looking at him, his head cocked to the side in a way that so reminded Diedrich of a dog he almost laughed.  Almost. 

"What? Oh, of course.”  Diedrich was an atrocious liar and knew it. 

“Then what did I say?”

“Er, well, I’m fairly sure you mentioned something about the Queen.”

“Really now, Dee, am I that boring? You promised me you’d give me your full attention this time, too. I can’t say that you’re entirely wrong, however. Her Majesty has just given me the task of capturing the perpetrator of a series of very grisly murders.”  

Phantomhive crossed his legs and leaned back in his seat, twiddling his thumbs as he did so. 

“The killer has a lovely little habit of decapitating the victims and carving the letter ‘M’ into their flesh in their own blood. They left a letter behind for the police at the scene of their most recent crime, referring to themselves as The Mortician.”  

Before Diedrich had the chance to reply to this grim statement, there was a resounding knock on the door.  

“Come in,” Phantomhive said airily. 

The door opened and in stepped a girl with long, plaited blonde hair and eyes that were narrowed in vexation and anger.  Diedrich recognized her immediately.  The girl in question was Frances, the most skilled fencer he’d ever seen and one of the most fearsome people he’d ever met, and Diedrich knew a thing or two about fearsome people.  She also happened to be Phantomhive’s younger sister.  

“Where’s my hairbrush, Vincent?” she demanded, locking eyes with her brother, who looked utterly unfazed by her icy glare.  

“Why should I know?” 

“I left it right on my dresser before I went to find Tanaka to ask him to make me a cup of tea and it had mysteriously vanished when I came back. You’re always snooping around my room—I honestly don’t know _what_ you think you’ll find in there—so of course I figured you have something to do with its disappearance. Give it back.” 

Diedrich felt as though he were intruding on a private squabble between siblings and prayed the large armchair he was currently seated in would swallow him up.  Phantomhive said nothing, suddenly very fixated on a piece of thread dangling from the sleeve of his coat.   

“Give. It. Back.”  

“If you want it, you’ll have to find it,” Phantomhive said in an irritatingly singsong voice.  Frances looked as though she would like nothing more than to slap her brother, but she managed to maintain her composure, now turning her attention to Diedrich. 

“Diedrich,” she began, “have you any idea where my _dear brother_ has hidden my _personal property_?” 

“Don’t tell her, Dee, or you’ll ruin the fun.”  

Diedrich looked from Phantomhive, who appeared theatrically distraught, to Frances, and it took all of two seconds for him to decide whose side he was on.  

“I saw him put something in one of his desk drawers, Lady Frances. The middle one, I think.”  

“Why thank you, Diedrich, you’re such a gentleman, unlike _some people_ around here.”   

Frances marched over to the location of said desk, opened the middle drawer and pulled out a small blue hairbrush, then walked back to Diedrich and Phantomhive and proceeded to whack her brother over the head.  

“You deserved that and you know it,” she said, twirling the brush between her fingers.  She smiled briefly at Diedrich before smirking triumphantly at her brother and exiting the room with her chin held high and her hairbrush in hand.  

“Charming girl, isn’t she?” Phantomhive asked, rubbing at the spot Frances had smacked him.

“She is, actually. A bit terrifying, I won’t lie, but very charming. She’s certainly got an aura of charisma about her,” Diedrich said honestly.  

“I suppose you’re right. She’s only awful when I’ve done something to upset her, and that’s no one’s fault but my own. But I digress. There’s still a bit more you should know about our mysterious murderer. 

“They, for whatever reason, seem to have some sort of personal vendetta against me, because the bodies have all turned up in places I frequent when I’m in London and that can’t be a coincidence.”  

Something about what Phantomhive had said earlier was niggling at the back of Diedrich’s mind and was making him very uncomfortable. 

“Hold on now. You said this person calls themselves The Mortician? You don’t think—”

“Undertaker is our man? Come on Dee, use your brain,” Phantomhive laughed, tapping his head. “I know you’ve got one. Do you really think Undertaker would go around lopping off people’s heads and then write a letter signed The Mortician? He might as well tattoo the words _I’m The Mortician!_ onto his face and dance naked in front of the police station.” 

It was a rather stupid suggestion, now that Diedrich thought about it, and he inwardly cursed himself for having said it aloud.  The man who was known simply as Undertaker to the rest of those in Phantomhive’s inner circle was an odd bat, but he was not an idiot in any sense of the word.  Anyone who was associated with Phantomhive to even the smallest degree had to have some sense of self-preservation.  

“Let me get this straight. The Queen has asked you to track down a serial killer called The Mortician who cuts the heads off their victims and carves the letter ‘M’ into the skin of those poor wretches, correct?”

Phantomhive smiled.  

“Do you have any idea how you’re going to go about this case? This person is clearly very disturbed, but what’s most troubling to me is that they’re targeting you specifically and they seem awfully confident they won’t get caught. I mean, they left a letter for the police to find; it’s like this is just some game to them.”

“Oh, I’m sure it is, Dee. But the trick to any game is to know how to play it.” 

Diedrich sighed, running a hand through his hair.  He’d always hated the way Phantomhive acted like he was indestructible, as though he were above mere mortals.  One day, Diedrich knew, that attitude would land him in a very sticky situation, one he might not be able to weasel his way out of.  He looked at his old schoolmate, who looked perfectly at ease— _was he humming_ —and sighed.  It would be a wonder if Phantomhive lived to see twenty-five.  

“And I’m going to have you, of course. The whole reason I sent for you is so you’d be able to help me investigate these murders and capture this nasty fellow. Ah yes, I almost forgot: we’ll be relocating to my townhouse in London within the next day or two before beginning the operation, so you might want to start packing.” 

The morbidity of the conversation combined with the disagreeable weather outside did nothing to help Diedrich’s already-bad mood, and he rose from his seat, declaring he was going to retire for an hour or so to the room Phantomhive had allowed him to occupy during his stay at the manor.  Phantomhive murmured a goodbye, and Diedrich quickly dismissed himself, eager to drift into blissful slumber for just a little while.  

* * *

Phantomhive Manor was not nearly as grand or large as Diedrich’s own castle, Weizsäcker, but Diedrich knew he could’ve hoped for no better place to stay during his time in England.  The servants were appropriately deferential to him, and it was not as though Phantomhive was an ungracious host.  Frances wasn’t bad company, either.  She was intelligent and had possessed a commanding presence even when she’d been young.  Diedrich had first met her when he and Phantomhive had graduated from Weston College.  Frances had been a serious-faced fifteen year old, giving her older brother an approving yet distant smile while the families of the other graduates nearly suffocated them with embraces and kisses.  Diedrich remembered Phantomhive dragging Frances over to him, insisting that they make conversation and exclaiming with the utmost confidence they would “get along brilliantly!” 

It had been awkward, naturally, for a few minutes, but Frances had eventually complimented Diedrich’s hair and that had eased some of the tension.  He, in turn, had praised the elegance her dress and declared he couldn’t believe how such a sophisticated young lady could possibly be related to Vincent Phantomhive.  Frances had laughed at that and proceeded to tell Diedrich all sorts of stories about her brother, most of which would probably cause Phantomhive to have a heart attack if he’d known they were no longer family secrets.  

With Frances on his mind, it was therefore oddly fitting when Diedrich encountered Frances at the top of the stairs. 

“Diedrich, I’m glad you’re here. I’d like a word, if you don’t mind.”  

The statement itself was diplomatic enough, but Diedrich could tell by her tone that he really didn’t have a choice in the matter.  

“Not at all, Lady Frances,” he replied.  Frances beckoned to him, and Diedrich walked over to her.  

“What exactly did my brother tell you about The Mortician?”  

Images of bloody, headless corpses swam in Diedrich’s mind, and it took him a moment before he was able to answer.

“He told me enough.” 

“Then you know that he is putting himself in more danger than he’s possibly ever been in before and he’s essentially accepted a suicide mission. Truth be told, my brother is one of the cleverest people I’ve ever known, but sometimes he can be so pathetically dim. He’s under the impression he has this whole situation completely under control, but I know he’s in over his head this time. The Mortician is after him specifically and he’s walking right into their trap if he takes this job. 

“I’ve tried to convince Vincent to let me help you two, to do some investigating of my own, but he refuses to listen to me.”  Frances scowled and crossed her arms, giving an indignant little huff.  

“You’re his sister. He’s only trying to keep you safe,” Diedrich said.

“That’s his argument, and I understand that, but as his sister, I’m not going to just sit back and watch him throw himself into a case that’s almost guaranteed to get him killed if he refuses to accept help. I think he’d be more open-minded about my offer if he knew that I’d be with someone he could trust. And he does trust you, Diedrich. I’ve heard him say so myself.”   

Diedrich had no idea what to do.  On the one hand, what Frances said was true; Phantomhive did seem to be The Mortician’s sole target, and there was a very good chance they were expecting him to walk right into their path.  Diedrich didn’t know if he could sleep at night if Phantomhive got himself killed and he’d had the opportunity to prevent it.  However, Frances was Phantomhive’s younger sister, and if anything happened to her while she was under Diedrich’s protection…

“I’m sorry Lady Frances, but I’m going to have to decline your offer. I can’t risk putting you in danger, or your brother would have my head. Quite literally, if I know him well enough.”  

There was a flash of hurt in Frances’ wide green eyes, but it lasted for only a moment.  

“Very well. I’m not going to beg. I’ll do what I must to keep my brother safe, and if that means taking on this job alone, then that’s what I’ll do.”

Her dramatic proclamation was part of a tactic of manipulation that was uniquely Phantomhive, a tactic in which you found yourself agreeing to whatever had been asked of you and not realizing it until it was too late.  Oh yes, Diedrich was very familiar with this ploy, yet he began wondering if Frances’ plan wasn’t a better idea after all.  

“Fine. I’ll do it. But your brother isn’t going to be happy about this.”

“I know, he isn’t, and that’s why I’m going to say I was the one who coerced you to help me so he knows you aren’t the one he ought to be cross with.”

“You _coerced_ me? That makes you sound awfully nefarious, Lady Frances. Like some kind of temptress.”  

The look in Frances’ eyes was so venomous Diedrich physically recoiled, and he backtracked immediately. 

“I’m sorry. That was completely inappropriate of me to say. I wasn’t thinking. You know, I actually haven’t been thinking at all today. This ridiculous English weather does something to my head.”

“I suppose I can excuse you. Vincent’s mentioned several times how you’re occasionally prone to rudeness and saying thoughtless things. Now come on, let’s not waste any more time. We might as well get this over with as soon as we can.”

Diedrich followed Frances back to Phantomhive’s room, slowly digesting everything that had just transpired.  He had agreed to become an accomplice in Frances’ plan to go against her brother’s wishes and throw herself right into harm’s way.  If anything happened to her, Diedrich would be held responsible, not that he disagreed with that.  The very thought of Frances Phantomhive ending up decapitated and left to rot in some filthy gutter made him ill. 

Frances rapped three times on Phantomhive’s door and there was a brief pause before a casual “Yes?” was heard from within the room.  Frances turned to nod at Diedrich and the two stepped through the door.  

“Back for round two, are you, Frances? My head is still throbbing where you hit me, so if you plan on attacking me with your hairbrush again, please choose a different spot. I don’t want a dent in my head,” Phantomhive said.

“This is serious, Vincent. I know that the Queen has charged with an extremely dangerous task, one I don’t think you fully grasp how much of a risk it puts your life at. Yes, I am also very aware you’re planning on roping poor Diedrich into this mess, but I don’t think he can offer much help other than acting as your bodyguard. He doesn’t know London like I do. I’m going to handle the investigations for you, and I convinced Diedrich to protect me.”

Phantomhive was quiet for a long moment.  He rubbed at his temples, exhaling slowly.

“Frances, we’ve already been over this. You’re not getting involved and that’s my final word.”

“Please listen to me. The Mortician is after you specifically, and every time you step outside to carry out an investigation there’s a chance you’ll end up dead in an alley. They’re expecting you to seek them out. It’s a game, and they’re just aching for you to join in and play.” 

“Frances.”  

Phantomhive’s voice was low and deadly, and any lightheartedness he may have had was gone.  

“Can you imagine, for just a moment, how I would feel if I was told your body was discovered in the streets of London with its head missing and the mark of a serial killer carved into one of its arms? I can’t let that happen to you. We’re the only family we’ve got left.” 

“That’s why you need me.”  

Frances was staring her brother down, daring him to argue.  Phantomhive tried to match her steely glare, but it proved futile, and he crumbled.

“Fine. I’ll reconsider. If you don’t mind, I’d like the both of you to leave. This won’t be an easy decision, and I don’t want either of you breathing down my neck while I think this matter over.”  

Frances about-faced and withdrew from the room.  Diedrich said nothing, shrugging at Phantomhive before leaving the other boy to his thoughts, closing the door behind him and wondering just what he had gotten himself into.


	2. Chapter Two

* * *

 

Having finally convinced Vincent to at least _consider_ her offer instead of shooting it down with uncharacteristic haste, Frances felt as though she had done her part and done it well.  She turned to thank Diedrich for agreeing to protect her during the investigations and was displeased to find he was horribly drawn and pale.

 

“Are you feeling all right, Diedrich? You look dreadful, if you’ll excuse me.”  

 

“I’m fine, Lady Frances. Just…tired. It’s been a long day, and I usually get like this in rotten weather anyway.”

 

Frances frowned.  Diedrich was a very prideful boy, and she wondered if he wasn’t simply downplaying the severity of his condition for the sake of his dignity.  She placed her hands on her hips and looked pointedly at him. 

 

“I’ll not have you catching cold just before we’re due to leave to the townhouse. Go to your room and get some rest. I’ll have Tanaka bring you some tea.”  

 

Diedrich seemed relieved to hear this, and he gave Frances a respectful little nod before bidding her goodbye and heading back to his sleeping quarters.  She watched him go, marveling at just how big he was.  Big and _powerful._ She didn’t doubt he could hurtle a grown man across a room if he ever felt inclined to do so.  Frances shivered at the thought of how easily he could probably fling _her_ around.  Not that he ever would, of course.  Although Diedrich didn’t have the best of tempers, Frances couldn’t envision him tossing a seventeen year-old girl like a rag doll just because he could.  

 

Remembering her original reason for leaving her room, Frances descended the staircase to search for Tanaka, the family butler.  She estimated it was anywhere between seven and eight in the evening, which meant Tanaka had probably finished his chores by now and was most likely reading or making his usual round about the manor.  Frances was terribly fond of the older Japanese gentleman.  He’d known her since before she was born, and had always been a warm, comforting figure in her life.  He’d grieved with her when her father and mother had died, and had been her constant companion when Vincent had gone off to school.  Tanaka was a beloved member of the Phantomhive household, and Frances had no idea what she would do when he finally passed on.  

 

After several minutes of wandering the halls, Frances found Tanaka inside the library.  He was sitting quietly at a desk, where a full tea tray rested at the upper right hand corner, and he appeared to be absorbed in his book.  Frances cleared her throat, and Tanaka looked up, a tender smile on his old wrinkled face.  

 

“Good evening, Lady Frances. Is there something you need?” 

 

“Yes, actually. I wanted to ask if you’d be so kind as to bring Diedrich and me some—”

  
“Tea?” he replied, gesturing at the tea set.

 

Frances laughed softly, shaking her head. 

 

“How is it you always seem to know just what I want?”

 

Tanaka’s fond smile grew wider.   

 

“I have watched over you for seventeen years, my Lady. I have had time to get to know your wants, needs, and habits as well as I know my own. You and your brother are very special to me.”  

 

Tanaka walked over to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. 

 

“Would you like me to bring Lord Diedrich his tea, or would you prefer to give it to him yourself?”

 

“I’d like you to give it to him, if it isn’t too much trouble. He’s probably in his room by now, and it wouldn’t be proper for me to simply go barging into a gentleman’s chambers.”  

 

Tanaka gave a small little bow, murmured, “As you wish, my Lady,” and handed her a teacup before departing with the tea tray in hand. 

 

Frances seated herself in one of the armchairs and sipped at her tea thoughtfully.  If Vincent allowed her to aid him in the capture of The Mortician, in about two day’s time, she— _and Diedrich_ , she reminded herself—would be snooping around the London underworld in search of an incredibly dangerous criminal.  Not exactly how your average young noblewoman spent her leisure time.  Then again, Frances was not an average young noblewoman.  She was a Phantomhive, and that alone guaranteed she was in danger nearly every moment of every day.  It was the duty of the Phantomhives—of the Watchdog specifically—to destroy any trace of wrongdoing on the part of the Royal Family and to ensure the people in the underworld did nothing to harm those of the “respectable” society.  The Phantomhives, therefore, were not deeply beloved among the city’s groups of organized criminals, and Vincent, a boy of nineteen, had already survived several assassination attempts. 

 

She herself had suffered attempts on her life.  One particularly terrifying incident had occurred about a year or so ago, when she, Vincent, and Diedrich had been leaving the theater  and two gunshots had sliced like a rapier through the peaceful night air.  Diedrich had knocked both her and Vincent to the ground and stood protectively in front of them, wildly scanning the area for the would-be assassin.  Whoever they’d been, they hadn’t been especially dedicated to their cause, as there had been no more gunshots after that, but Frances’ blood had run cold when she’d discovered a bullet had torn through her dress. 

 

“Ah, there you are.”

 

Frances was startled out of her morbid musings by the sound of her brother’s voice.  

 

“Tanaka told me you were fooling around in the library.”  

 

“I highly doubt he said I was _fooling around._ I don’t _fool around;_ that’s your job.”  

 

The corner of Vincent’s mouth twitched, but the contemplative look in his eyes that had been there before Frances had left his room still lingered.  He looked like he was desperate to say something, but didn’t quite know how to formulate the words.  

 

“I’ve decided to let you assist me, on the condition you not leave Diedrich’s side for a moment when you’re out investigating. I don’t want you out of his sight. If he tells you to run, then you run faster than you ever have in your life. He is to give up his life for you, if it comes to that, do you understand?” 

 

“Vincent, I can’t ask him to do that!”

 

“You don’t have to. He already knows, and he’s prepared to make that sacrifice. Those are the conditions you have to accept if you want to help me catch this murderer, and I’m not changing them.”  

 

It seemed like a fair deal.  The only thing that scratched at Frances’ conscience was the thought of permitting a boy to die in exchange for her own life.  That seemed too high of a price to pay, even if it was for the sake of keeping her own self alive.                       

 

“If he dies protecting me, then his blood is essentially on my hands, and I couldn’t live with that. He’s the closest thing you’ve ever had to a friend, Vincent, and if I took him away from you…”

 

Vincent stepped through the doorway and gripped both of Frances’ shoulders, and when he spoke, his words were firm.  

 

“Don’t worry about Diedrich. It would take an army of demons from the pits of hell to take him down. The only thing I want you to concern yourself with is staying alive. You’re going to the townhouse in my place, and while you’re there, I want you to write back to me as often as you can so that I know you’re safe. All right?” 

 

“You sound like a mother hen, Vincent. I’m half expecting you to grow feathers and start pecking at the floor in search of grain.”

 

Vincent rolled his eyes, but there was a now a lightness to the room that eliminated the last of the tension. 

 

“Really? I’d probably look good with feathers, now that you mention it. I’ll keep that in mind the next time we have a costume ball.” 

 

Frances shoved her brother towards the door, and Vincent made a noise that sounded very much like a chicken in distress.  A laugh escaped Frances in spite of herself.  Her brother was a pain and a constant thorn in her side, but he was _her_ pain to bear.    

 

“This mother hen is heading back to her roost now and she’ll probably be there for the rest of the evening. So good night, Frances, and I’ll see you and Dee off in the morning.” 

 

After wishing her brother pleasant dreams and a not-too painful bite from the bedbug, Frances decided it would be in her best interests if she returned to her own room to gather her things before she and Diedrich left for the townhouse.  She stopped by the servants’ quarters to fetch her maid, Helena, and the two girls walked to Frances’ room.  Helena would be accompanying Frances and Diedrich to the townhouse, and she would do the cooking and mind the building while they were out.

 

Upon entering the bedroom, Helena helped Frances pack the necessities for their stay in London.  Corsets, dresses, boots and nightgowns went into the trunks and a small chest held the requirements for Frances’ toilette.  The whole process was dreadfully long and dull, and Frances was relieved when she finally packed away the last gown.  

 

“Shall I undress you now, my Lady?” 

 

“Yes please, Helena. I’d like to get to bed as quickly as I can. We’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”  

 

Frances stood very still as Helena removed her many layers of clothing one by one, making light conversation to pass the time.  Eventually, the topic turned to Diedrich.  

 

“So the Earl is entrusting his old schoolmate to protect you on this mission?”

 

“Yes. The only reason he’s letting me handle this case is because I promised him I’d allow Diedrich to protect me during the investigations.”

 

Helena made a disapproving sound, and Frances was nearly certain she knew she cause for her maid’s objection. 

 

“Vincent trusts Diedrich completely, Helena. I know it isn’t all that wise to share a roof with a boy I don’t know very well, but I don’t have a choice. Besides, do you really think my brother would’ve allowed me to travel with Diedrich if his intentions toward me were anything less than pure?”

 

Silence. 

 

“If it makes you feel any better, I made sure to pack a couple of sabers with me, so it isn’t as though he’ll be the only one in possession of weapons.”  

 

Helena finished loosening the laces, and Frances wiggled around for a moment before the other girl unhooked the busk and removed the corset altogether.  Frances stretched, breathing deeply.  

 

“Better?” Helena asked. 

 

“Much, thank you, Helena,” Frances responded, raising her ams so Helena could remove her chemise.  Frances was particularly fussy when it came to being naked in front of other people, so Helena covered her eyes and turned away while Frances removed her drawers and slipped on her nightgown.  

 

Several minutes later, after bidding her maid good night, Frances crawled into bed and pulled the bedcovers up to her chin.  Her thoughts were maddeningly convoluted, and she needed to get them sorted out.  She decided to start with things she knew for certain.

 

Firstly, she and Diedrich would be undertaking Vincent’s mission in his place.  Diedrich was to act as her protector, and she was to write to Vincent whenever she could to let him know how the investigations were coming along.  They would be residing at her brother’s townhouse in London until the case was complete, and Frances was to allow Diedrich to give up his life for her should the situation turn dire.  These facts were nearly overwhelming in themselves, and she hadn’t even begun to evaluate the complications they’d inevitably run into.  

 

Where would they begin their investigations?  Would they start in the underworld under the cover of darkness, or would they begin in the light of day in respectable society, picking up snippets of gossip and going from there?     

 

And what would they do once they _found_ the murderer?  Were they to kill him once they had him at their mercy, or would it be more prudent to take him back to Phantomhive Manor and let Vincent deal with him?  

 

After mulling over these thoughts for at least an hour and a half, Frances decided to force herself to sleep.  She couldn’t risk the consequence of drowsiness tomorrow; both she and Diedrich needed to be on alert at all times.  Plumping up her pillow before burying herself even further underneath her sheets, Frances shut her eyes, preparing herself for dreams of headless corpses marked with a bloody letter ‘M’.  

 

* * *

 

 After completing her morning routine—with Helena’s assistance—Frances found Vincent and Diedrich seated in the dining hall, deep in conversation.  Neither had noticed her, and Frances took a step forward, craning her neck to eavesdrop. 

 

“Your sister and I are going to be risking our lives so you don’t have to. We’ll be in London carrying out the investigations, searching for any leads that might lead us to The Mortician—” 

 

“—and I’ll be safe at the manor, sitting around and picking my nose.”

 

“It would’ve been excellent if you’d left out that particular detail, but yes, that is the general idea. Just…refrain from doing anything even mildly stupid while we’re—oh, good morning, Lady Frances.”

 

Diedrich briefly nodded in her direction to acknowledge her presence, and Vincent smiled at her, patting the chair to his left.  Frances walked over to the enormous table and took a seat next to her grinning brother.  Vincent offered her a slice of toast with strawberry jam, which Frances gratefully accepted.  She hadn’t eaten much the night before, and could hear her stomach grumbling.  However, she was careful to take small bites to avoid spilling crumbs all over herself, as she was a lady and such behavior was beneath her.  When she had her fill, Vincent spoke. 

 

“I see you’re all ready for your trip to the townhouse.” 

 

“I’m _quite_ ready. Helena helped me packed my things last night, so I’m really only waiting for Tanaka to prepare the carriage.”

 

“Which he has done. He’ll be driving you two to the townhouse, by the way. You and Dee need only to gather your things and you can be off! I’d suggest putting a coat on, though. The storm is over but Tanaka says it’s awfully chilly out, and the last thing we need is you catching a cold.”   

 

Frances had no desire to make the long trek back to her room for the sake of fetching a single coat, but what Vincent said made sense.  She wasn’t superstitious, not even a bit, but her falling ill before the investigations had even begun would certainly be awfully ominous.  That was a risk Frances wasn’t willing to take.  She gave Diedrich an apologetic look.  

 

“Do whatever you feel needs to be done, Lady Frances. Spending five more minutes alone with your brother won’t kill me.”  Diedrich paused, making face. “Although, nothing is ever certain with him, so if you come back and find me dead on the floor, you shouldn’t be surprised.”  

 

Not knowing whether or not it was appropriate to laugh, Frances gave a neutral little “ha” and hurried back to her bedroom.  She didn’t want to keep Diedrich waiting any longer than absolutely necessary, and the sooner they reached the townhouse, the sooner the case could _really_ begin.  

 

* * *

 

 It took her just over five minutes to reach her room, fumble about in her closet for her traveling coat and return to the dining hall, where Vincent was prattling on about God-knows-what and Diedrich was looking highly irritated.  Then again, Diedrich usually looked highly irritated; his face just seemed to naturally default to that of “perpetually upset about something or other”.   Perhaps her brother’s chatter had nothing to do with the sour look on his old schoolmate’s face.  At the sight of Frances, Diedrich seemed to perk up, and he interrupted Vincent to say, “Are you ready to depart, Lady Frances?”  

 

Frances nodded, gesturing for Diedrich and Vincent to follow her as she headed out the door.  She felt her heart race, out of fear or anticipation she wasn’t sure, and resolutely squared her shoulders, head held high: she was Frances Phantomhive, sister of the Queen’s Watchdog, and she was going to save Vincent no matter what it took.  


End file.
